The sky at night was a huge black sun, blotting out the heavens.
After hours of driving the neighborhoods he found sleep and dreamed of driving.
In the dream he saw second story windows above long, darkened blocks of barred doors and padlocked mailboxes and no trespassing signs.
A lone window, lit up, curtainless—who lived in these rooms pacing sleepless, wracked by thoughts of unknown divination?
Someone alone in a room did not exist until another came along and there were two.
One window, high over fertile yards and still-warm concrete, within reach only of wings, or violent acts.
If he knew them, if he walked in the rooms, he would be the one seen instead of seeing.
The world would be other than what it was.
He saw high windows and a story played that rolled away the stone of his exclusion from all matters human, from all realms above.
He wakened, and began to drive again.
